I feel translucent; <br />Fevered though I may be, <br />My corporeal devotee leaves me <br />White, and substance less as a specter <br /> <br />I feel hollow <br />Like the bullet in a gun, <br />Devastating and piercing <br />Only so much more refined. <br /> <br />The descending noose <br />Lends no anxiety; <br />An unexpected Kolonopin daydream <br />Takes its place with utmost grace. <br /> <br />I feel refined, <br />Though no black-out suits distract <br />From ragged eye pits set deep <br />Into rigor mortis face <br /> <br />I feel cavernous <br />Stalactites drip from my open wound; <br />Or obscene, a bedroom 'Jesus Christ' <br />Like resounding orgasm catcalls. <br /> <br />I feel better; <br />Slowly but surely <br />All good things <br />Must come to an end. <br /> <br />I think that today, <br />I might finally feel better.<br /><br />Tyler Wilcox<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/ghost-stories-3/
